The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Four

Updated as of 12/31/16

Sherlock glanced over at Vivian. Her breathing was deep and steady. A faint flicker of movement stirred beneath her eyelids, reminiscent of REM sleep. Good. She'd grown much faster at achieving the necessary trance-like state now. The firelight illuminated the deep red undertones in her hair, nearly a perfect match to burning lithium chloride. The salt crystal compound was useful for extracting RNA, but dangerously toxic to the nervous system.

He returned his attention to the magazine, but after a few paragraphs his gaze was inexplicably drawn back to her again. John never sat on the floor like that. He always sat in his chair, feet flat on the ground or with one foot across his knee, hands neatly folded.

Not so with Vivian. She sat propped up against the base of the chair with her head resting back against the cushion, her pale throat exposed, vulnerable. Her open posture indicated she felt safe here - with him. The realization was oddly gratifying.

Her knees were drawn up to her chest, and though she appeared quiet and curled in on herself, she was hardly contained. The sheer warmth of her presence filled the room, sending a peculiar awareness pricking along his skin. It was distracting. Disconcerting.

Restless, he set the magazine down and retreated to the safety of the kitchen. He paced within the small space. What was his problem? The strange disquiet quivering at his insides couldn't possibly be caused by Vivian. She wasn't doing anything. He halted mid-step.

The problem wasn't Vivian at all - it was him. He needed a case. He needed work.

Yes. That had to be it. The little mystery from last night and the busyness of the holiday had distracted him until now. If no one was violently murdered soon, he'd have to resort to Lestrade's cold case files which weren't nearly as fun. He sighed. In the meantime, a temporary fix would have to suffice.

He lit one of the gas burners and fixed his gaze on the steady blue flame. With each exhale, he sent the simmering agitation inside him toward the fire. After several long moments the unsettling feeling receded, and cool control took its place.

He straightened. Much better. He should have completed the exercise yesterday after the dinner with Vivian, but he'd put it off. Foolish of him. He wouldn't be making that mistake again. After flicking off the burner, he returned to his seat in the living room. His gaze landed on Vivian's bare feet. Her toes were painted a glittering green. Another festive touch.

She opened her eyes and shot him an accusatory frown. Suddenly it was very much like sitting beside John.

"What?" he asked.

"You're messing with my Mind Palace."

"I was in the kitchen."

"No, not here. In my head." She threw up her hands. "You emptied a conversation shelf in the library and moved it somewhere else. And now there's a new door and you won't let me open it."

His chest tightened, sealing off his breath. She couldn't possibly mean what he thought she did. "What are you talking about?"

She looked at him like he was mental. "I'm talking about you, in my Mind Palace, messing things up. Now, how can I fix you?"

Fix him? None of this made any sense at all. "Why on earth am I in your Mind Palace?"

Her brows drew together. "You told me the library was the foundation center and to anchor it with something significant."

"I meant significant like your favorite childhood toy, the scent of your mother's perfume, or your diploma, not a person."

She gaped at him. "What? You mean there aren't any people in your Mind Palace?"